


All Fun & Games (Until John Finds Out)

by DellaVie



Category: Jumanji (1995), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-08
Updated: 2008-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DellaVie/pseuds/DellaVie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns from a hunt to find that the once quiet town has turned to hell-in-a-handbasket. He goes to keep order while Sam [13] and Dean [17] hold down the fort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Fun & Games (Until John Finds Out)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Fandom Firsts Crossover Challenge](http://sn-crossovers.livejournal.com/tag/.challenge%20fic) at SN Crossovers.

**SLAM!**

Sam and Dean looked up as their father banged his way into the tiny, three-room house they currently resided in. His shirt was in tatters, barely hanging off his tall frame, and his pants were covered in viscous orange goo.

Dean picked his legs up off the coffee table as John passed. "Still no luck, Dad?"

"Oh, I found them. Witness reports weren't lying - these suckers _were_ bigger'n a breadbox." John sneezed.

Dean looked up at the sound, a glimmer of fear in his eyes before he quickly masked it and returned to the television.

John dropped his spent shotgun on the table, directly on top of Sam's homework. Normally Sam would protest the fact, but considering the recent events even a bull-headed thirteen year-old knew better than to dispute John Winchester at the moment. Instead, he held his tongue as their father passed into the master bedroom. Another sneeze could be faintly heard.

Dean, still lounged about the couch, called after him. "Then what's up?"

Between the sounds of rummaging and the _click_ of weaponry their father's voice replied; "On the way back Old Lady Milovich - you remember her?"

"Yeah, she owns the grocer," Sam piped up.

“She thought Sammy was a girl,” Dean snickered. Sam glared.

"Yeah, well she comes tearin' down the street telling me there's rabid monkeys in her store throwin' fruit around. Sure enough, I go in and there's a troop of the chaotic buggers declarin' war on anything that moves."

Deans' eyebrows went up. "What, animal control havin' the day off?"

"She called them. They couldn't understand how monkeys native to South America could end up in some podunk town that doesn't even have a zoo."

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean muttered something about bureaucratic intelligence. Their little joke was broken when their father sneezed again.

"But they're on their way after giant mosquitoes sent forty people to the hospital in serious condition."

_"What!?"_

John reappeared in the room dressed to the teeth in weapons with a bulging bag slung over his shoulder. "Oh, didn't I mention that? Soon as I manage to take care of the friggin’ chimps these friggin’ insects start swarming over the town. One of ‘em even pierced through the car with its stinger-thing."

Dean followed his father to the front window, peering out the small piece of glass that separated them from chaos. Outside he could see a rhino headbutting a ute; trying to tip it over. "Dad, what the hell is going on?"

"I dunno, Deano. Best I can figure is some sort of – _achoo!_ – Native American curse."

"What do we do?"

"Nothing. You can't beat a curse son; you can only get out of its way."

He turned to his eldest, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I'm going back out there to make sure everyone makes it to safety." He could see the offer for help on his son's lips and steamrolled through it before Dean had a chance to ask. "I need you to look after your brother, okay?"

Faced with the part-order, part-plea, Dean could only nod, "Sure thing, Dad."

John clapped him on the shoulder in and handed him a shotgun. "I left some spare shells in my room. You look this door behind me and you keep the windows shut. Don't let anything in – _achoo!_ – y'hear?"

"Yes sir," they both chorused.

John eyed them both for a minute, taking in their expressions. In the corner of his eye he noticed something he hadn't before; the door to their room was shut, and had what looked like claw marks scratched on it.

Both boys followed his line of sight and Sam stumbled over an explanation; "Dean was throwing knives."

When John turned to Dean, he shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to practice, right?"

"I was hoping to get the deposit back this time," John sighed.

"Just tell them it was a lion."

John's gaze flicked over to his youngest, and an eyebrow rose, "A lion?"

"Well, yeah. With everything that's going on outside, how could they not believe it?" Dean smirked hesitantly.

“Speaking of, you boys got a cat in here? You know I’m allergic.”

Sam’s mouth was partly open; the deer-in-headlights look perfectly portrayed with his wide puppy eyes.

“Nah, it was just a stray. Ran in through the window when the shit started to hit the fan.” Dean gestured to outside, “We locked it in the bathroom so you wouldn’t have to, y’know, deal with it. We’ll return it to its owner when this is over.”

John looked to the bathroom door that was also shut, and then between Sam – whose mouth was shut and his face a little earnest to be genuine – and Dean, who wouldn’t meet his stare. “We’re not keeping the cat.”

“We know, Dad.”

When John kept staring, Dean knew he wasn’t buying it. “It’s just... he kinda made a mess of the bathroom.”

“I want it cleaned up before I get back.”

“Yeah, Sammy’s on it.”

Sam looked up, his mouth open to protest.

John cut him off, “I don’t want to hear about it. You boys can sort it out yourselves.” He turned to go. His hand was barely touching the door handle when his youngest drew his attention again;

"Dad?"

He turned around.

"Be careful."

He smiled and nodded.

"...And watch out for yellow flowers."

When John looked confused, Dean quickly interjected. "They were on the news. Apparently they try to eat people."

After a beat, John looked up from the knife Dean held out for him. "Keep it. I got one in the bag."

This time John managed to make it out the door without interruptions.

Following their father's advice, Dean promptly locked the door behind him and watched through the window as their dad got into the Impala and took off.

"Is he gone?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah. What the hell is wrong with you? 'tell them it was a lion' – you trying to blow it?"

Sam got up off his chair and joined his brother on the couch. "No, I... Look, let's just finish the stupid game and it'll all be over," he looked to Dean, "right?"

"God I hope so." Dean slid the hand-crafted board game out from under the couch.

They both surveyed the board until Sam handed the dice over, "It's your turn."

Dean double-checked that the shotgun was loaded before he rolled:

_In the jungle you must wait, until the dice read five or eight._

As Dean's hands started to dissipate like sand, he looked to his brother in fear.

"Sam, go get Dad!"


End file.
